


A dinosaur, a sword fight and a kiss

by a_crooked_heart (orphan_account)



Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Fluff, and maybe i should have changed it to a more gender neutral counter-character?, but then again my standards may be a bit weird..., this is immensely sweet and romantic for my standarts, velociraptor impression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-17
Updated: 2013-01-17
Packaged: 2017-11-25 21:11:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/642995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/a_crooked_heart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You smile against his lips. It’s one of the biggest compliments he can pay you, making you feel like he’s the one honored by your attention. When in fact you’re the one who can’t fathom what is happening to you. No one has ever loved you like he does. And equally you have never loved anyone the way you love him. [...] You still don’t really understand how you could work so well together with another person. [...] Maybe it’s because you have no problem to talk about anything with Tom. [...] Maybe it’s something else entirely.</p>
<p>He interlaces the finger of his hands over the small of your back and pulls you even closer to him. You can feel his heartbeat increasing as you press against his chest.<br/>“What are you smiling at?” he whispers, his hot breath brushing your cheeks.<br/>Instead of answering you just close your eyes and kiss him again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A dinosaur, a sword fight and a kiss

**Author's Note:**

> just some fluff I wrote a while ago... this was originally an attempt at feminist porn, but that turned out to be harder than imagined, so it ended at, well, where it ended. but maybe there could be a more smutty sequel in the future...?!  
> 

You’re standing in the kitchen, tidying up. You've just taken a lovely strawberry and cheesecake from the oven, that you spent the last hour or so preparing and is now cooling on the window sill.

The domesticity of the whole scene strikes you as weirdly unnatural.  
 _You’re a goddamned feminist writer for gods’ sake! And here you are preparing tomorrow’s dessert and tidying up the kitchen, waiting for your man to come home. WTF? _ __  
Still, you have worked on you latest article the entire morning, you deserve an afternoon off from time to time, right? And baking is such a great creative outlet for you… You try to shrug off the oncoming internal gender debate.__

As you pile the dirty bowls and spoons into the warm soapy water in the sink, you hear the sound of your flat door being slowly unlocked, it is pushed open , it’s bottom whispering over the soft carped and then it’s pushed shut again. The lock makes just the tiniest clicking sound.  
Someone’s trying to be sneaky again; you think to yourself and can’t help but smile. He always tries to surprise you, to sneak up on you and sweep you off your feet, but he rarely succeeds. It’s not his fault though. It’s more like all your senses are wired to detect him no matter how he enters the room you’re in. Even when your back is to the door, you’d still know if he stood in its frame. But you play along anyway, because to you there is nothing as beautiful in the world as the look of almost childlike joy on his face when he thinks one of his ‘pranks’ worked on you.

There is a scratching at the closed kitchen door like fingernails scraping over the wood, followed by a weird guttural sound; a mixture of a growl and a hiss.  
‘Oh, no! Velociraptors.’, You mumble trying to suppress a giggle. Then you call a bit louder, so he can hear you through the still closed door:  
“Oh, what was that? What a terrible sound! So scary! I wish Tom were here to protect me against that monsters waiting for me behind those doors.”  
Every syllable is dripping with playful sarcasm.  
You hear him chuckle before he bursts through the door.  
“What seems to be the peril, young maiden”, he booms “how can I be of assistance? Where is the dragon I’ll have to slay to win your dear heart?”  
Laughing you turn around and throw a soap soaked spoon at him. Tom catches it midair and proceeds to point it at you like a sword.  
“Oh, I see” he says, perfectly staying in character, his face stern but open, his shoulders rigid, his eyes piercing yours, “the maiden enjoys to toy with her true knights heart. The maiden who cried wolf.”  
“Oh, but you are mistaken, dear sir!” you counter, “I did not cry wolf, it’s just seems that my cries rather attracted the wolf than a knight, because I know a wolf in a sheep’s skin when I see one.”  
You pull a second spoon from the waters and cross it with his, “And be assured, this maiden could defend herself against the dragons!”  
You charge forward, but he fends off your blow.  
“Can she now?” he asks pointedly and tries to break through your defense with a short right left combination.  
But you just dodge his attack, twirling around him like a ninja ballerina, slapping his buttocks hard with the wet spoon. 

Tom laughs and chucking his spoon back into the water with a big splash, spins around and envelopes you in his long arms. His embrace is tight, trapping your arms to your side as he picks you up from the ground and places a big kiss on top of your head. He swings you around like a child would spin an over-sized cuddly bear. You squirm and squeal, trying to escape his embrace. When he lowers you onto your tippy-toes and loosens his grip you reach up to cup his face with both of your hands. His broad grin vanishes. For several seconds you just stare each other straight in the eyes, your thumbs stroking his stubble covered cheeks. It nearly looks like a real beard now. _How sexy! ___

Wonder enters his eyes, you lean in to place a bruising kiss on his closed lips, his strawberry blonde goatee scratching you face ever so slightly.  
He looks so surprised. You lean in again and give him another, softer kiss. At first he seems unresponsive, still staring quizzically into your eyes. It’s like he can’t believe that you’d chose to kiss him, and then he slowly closes his eyes and leans into the kiss. You smile against his lips. It’s one of the biggest compliments he can pay you, making you feel like he’s the one honored by your attention. When in fact you’re the one who can’t fathom what is happening to you. No one has ever loved you like he does. And equally you have never loved anyone the way you love him. There is no weird co-dependency or no uncomfortable clingyness on either side, but also no uncertainty, no doubt and then again no boredom either. You still don’t really understand how you could work so well together with another person. But all the walls you had built around your heart just simply seemed to fall away the first time you realized you were in love with him. For the first time you weren't scared of rejection, nor did you shy away from his attention, like you did so often before. Maybe it’s because you have no problem to talk about anything with Tom. You’re both good listeners and always open for new ideas. Maybe it’s something else entirely.

He interlaces the finger of his hands over the small of your back and pulls you even closer to him. You can feel his heartbeat increasing as you press against his chest.  
“What are you smiling at?” he whispers, his hot breath brushing your cheeks.  
Instead of answering you just close your eyes and kiss him again. You move your hands away from his face and put your arms around his neck instead. You open your mouth a little and let the tip of your tongue tickle his lips lightly, whereupon he parts his lips, too, and touches his tongue to yours. The kiss is so sweet and slow it makes your heart clench almost painfully.  
You can feel every inch of your body that is pressed against his. It’s not like they say in the movies or in the novels. Your skin isn't on fire, it’s more like it hums, it’s slow, crawling warmth spreading from his body through your skin, right down to your bones. And you know he feels something like that, too, because he, too, tries to increase the contact when you hug each other like this. It’s like the both of you are trying to absorb as much of the other as possible by some kind of osmosis. 

You finish the kiss with a last small peck on his slightly swollen lips. Pressing your foreheads to his as you open your eyes again. His are still closed, the hair on the back of his head sticks up where your fingers roamed through it. His breath is still ragged and heavy. You untangle yourself from his embrace, putting your hands against his heaving chest and standing back down on your feet. His eyes fly open and search for yours. As always you’re fascinated by their color. You could have sworn that they've been a light blue, greyish color before you kissed. Now they are almost turquoise. 

“You made cheesecake?” he finally asks smiling.  
“Yeah. For tomorrow, so we have something to offer your Mom! So hands off, okay!”, You say raising a warning finger.  
“Aye, aye, captain!” He salutes standing up straight. To do so he has to let go of you completely and as much as you love him for his boyish demeanor you would have preferred it, if he hadn't let go of you. As if recognizing the expression of loss in your eyes he leans down and places a kiss on the tip of your still raised finger. Never breaking the eye contact he says:  
“But I think it would be better if you distracted me till then. You know there’s not much in the world that is equally tempting for me like a piece of cheesecake.”  
“Well, I think I know one or two things that could be even more….”  
You lower the just kissed finger and let it trail down his chest across his abdomen, before you hook it into the belt of his suit pants and pull him close again.  
“…pleasurable than cake” you continue. 

Without trying to lessen the distance between your face and his by standing on the tips of you toes again, this time you just kiss the first piece of bare skin you can reach, letting your lips and tongue trail across his closely shaven throat and lowering your hand from the hem of his trousers to his crotch. A low growl escapes him.  
Suddenly he takes hold of you upper arms and pushes you away from him. For a moment your surprised, shocked even, then you see the lust in his eyes.

“Let me take a shower first, okay? Work has been especially trying today.”  
“Okay. I’ll just tidy up here and then we’ll, well…” you leave the sentence unfinished on purpose, breaking the gaze and faking coy embarrassment, while simultaneously giving his half-arousal a light squeeze through his clothes. You can feel him growing more and more interested in your hand. He kisses the top of your head again and then turns abruptly, leaving then room again.

You go back to washing the dishes, but the increasing aching in you lower abdomen makes it hard to really concentrate on anything. You can hear Tom shedding his clothes in the bed room, his belt buckle hitting the hardwood floor, the rustling of his leather jacket and his shirt, you hear him opening the bathroom door and turn on the water in the shower. Your mind is racing. The bathroom is right across from the kitchen. Tom has left the kitchen door open and it didn't sound like he’s closed the bathroom door either. All you had to do is turn around. And then you could maybe steal another glance at Tom. Tom walking through the flat naked, Tom getting into the shower and spreading soap all over his gorgeously toned body, his long fingers rubbing and kneading his shoulders, his chest his strong thighs… 

Frustrated you throw the last spoon onto the rag next to the sink. Without letting the water drain from the sink you rip of the apron and chuck it onto the floor, your t-shirt and jeans follow suit as you make your way across the hall.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a while ago, maybe even over a year ago, when I first got in involved in all this fandom stuff (God or any other deity you worship bless it). I guess you could consider Tom Hiddleston my gateway drug (I know, shocking! a girl starting to write fanfics after she started fancying a Marvel villain).  
> Anyway, I think I should probably mention that (apart from the usual babble about me not owning Mr. Hiddleston [which would be nonsense anyway, considering the Slavery Abolition Act from 1833 and the Human Rights Act from 1998] et cetera et cetera) this is nothing more than the idle scribbling of a bored mind and posting this is nothing more than me trying to find out, if I even can write fanfiction at all.  
> It also has not been proofread by anyone else but myself and was not written in my first language. So be kind (that also includes pointing out possible gross mistakes) and maybe leave me a comment what you think about my first venture into this world of pure imagination.


End file.
